


Sample

by zalil



Series: Craving [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:40:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21906109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zalil/pseuds/zalil
Relationships: Crowley (Supernatural)/You
Series: Craving [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575808
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Sample

The day was a success so far. You had found your way to Tonkawa, Oklahoma, and Matt, a strange, but nice hunter. The drive had been long, but the whole thing had not been a trap, which should not be cause for celebration, but living with the Winchesters, your expectations from life had lowered somewhat. After drinking half a cup of horribly bitter coffee in Matt's cramped apartment, you had exchanged the talisman he needed for an obscure book he had promised Sam in return. Now you were back on the interstate towards Lebanon, Kansas, singing your best rendition of Proud Mary to the tape.

"Good aftern-"

The friendly greeting from the newly appeared front-seat passenger was cut off by your surprised shout and the screeching of the brakes as you hit them with a vengeance. It was a good thing the road was empty, as your car came to a halt halfway on the other side of the road with squealing and smoking tires. 

For a moment, CCR kept singing, then Crowley cleared his throat and turned off the tape. 

"As I said, good afternoon."

You gripped the steering wheel tightly and willed your hands to stop shaking. 

"Please don't do that again," you whispered. 

"Apologies, love. To my defense, I did call, but you didn't seem to hear your phone."

He raised his eyebrows at you and you wanted to sink into the seat and through the car into the ground. You hoped he hadn't been sitting next to you for more than a second before his greeting. Your singing was not something you normally shared with other people, and for good reason. 

"Sorry," you said, one hand slowly leaving the steering wheel and searching in your jacket for your phone. There it was. And yes, there were two missed calls, one from Sam and one from an unknown number that had to be Crowley's.

"No matter," Crowley replied. "I take it you didn't talk to Moose, either?"

At the shake of your head, he nodded.

"Thought so. Well, he sent me to you. I need to collect something from the bunker. Let's speed this up a little, so we have time to catch up afterwards, shall we?"

With a snap of his fingers, the car was standing inside the garage of the bunker, next to the place baby should have been, if Dean and Sam hadn't been out on a hunt. 

"Oookay…." you said, still processing what was happening. 

Crowley zapped himself next to your side mirror, then opened the car door for you. 

"After you, milady."

You got out, grabbed your bag from the back seat and led the way into the bunker. Was it strange that Crowley zapped you home to get something from the bunker instead of going to Sam and Dean? 

"Why did you need me to come home, anyways?" you asked, wondering. "You can enter the bunker on your own, can't you?"

Crowley gave a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, I can, but unfortunately, the boys have seen fit to ward the room where the more interesting books and ingredients are stored."

"Why did they ward it?" you asked, guessing at the answer already. 

He gave you a wide-eyed look, probably intended to look innocent. 

"Apparently, things had gone missing. And since I am the King of Evil, it's only too inviting to blame yours truly."

"I'm sure the disappearances had nothing to do with you," you commented, amused.

In the war room, the two of you stopped and you wondered again whether this was a good idea. Before you could formulate a battle plan, Crowley stalked over to the cabinet where Dean kept his alcohol. 

"Be a dear and call Moose while I try to find something that resembles a drink more than a wood polish."

Relieved, you went to the kitchen to do just that. Luckily, he hadn't been lying, Sam knew of your visitor and gave you instructions. 

"Don't let him inside the storage room, carry the ingredients out yourself. I'll text you the list of things he's allowed."

"Okay," you replied. "Any luck identifying the monster yet?"

"Nope. Judging by the victim's description, Cas thinks it's something exotic, not from around here. I'll call if we need you to hit the books."

When you hung up, Crowley entered the kitchen, muttering something along the lines of "...crime against barley…" and poured half a bottle of Dean's whiskey down the drain. You decided on the spot that you hadn't seen that. You did not want to get yourself into an argument between Dean and Crowley concerning alcohol.

"Did Moose reassure you?" Crowley asked and you nodded, slightly embarrassed that you needed to call Sam and Dean to know what to allow. But even though Crowley managed to make you feel like a little girl with those four words and a smirk, you knew it had been the smart thing to call Sam.

The way to the storage room was short, but still, the silence between you made you nervous. You thought fervently of a topic to discuss, then realized there was something you had wanted to say for some time. 

"Thanks for the chocolate, by the way," you said. "It was delicious."

Crowley smirked at you. "You're very welcome. I do have a reputation to uphold - the satisfaction of needs and such..."

You blushed and quickened your step to avoid his gaze. 

When you had arrived at the storage room, Crowley held out his arm to invite you in. 

"If you'd just make a little scratch into that trap, I'd be much obliged and out of your hair in next to no time."

You stepped over the devil's trap inside the room. 

"Sorry, Sam said you weren't allowed in," you explained. Crowley rolled his eyes and leaned against the door, hands in his pockets. 

"Fine. The first thing I need is the Book of Shadows."

You checked Sam's message, but there were no books among the allowed items. Looking up, you found Crowley watching you. You shook your head and he shrugged.

"Half an ounce of dried meadow-saffron," he tried again and you were glad to see that that was on your list. It took some time to find everything that he ordered in the chaos left by the men of letters and the boys' hasty restocking, but finally, you were almost done. The last item of Sam's text just said "blood". You raised your head to look at Crowley questioningly. Blood?

"Three ounces of virgin's blood," he supplied, watching you with glittering eyes. 

He didn't mean – and how would he know? But you had never heard anything about Sam and Dean storing virgin's blood. It would go off, wouldn't it? So maybe he did mean your own blood. And Sam had written he was allowed to have it… you swallowed. Needles weren't exactly your strong point. And it was strange Sam hadn't said anything to you about that.

When you hovered by the cupboard, unsure whether you wanted to leave the storage room again and possibly be subjected to a blood draw, Crowley grinned. 

"The freezer, love. It would need to be frozen somewhere."

Oh, that made sense. Indeed, there turned out to be a compartment in the kitchen's freezer that was dedicated to potions ingredients and other disgusting things you didn't want to know the purpose of. You fished some blood tubes from a rack and Crowley opened them to smell them, giving you back those that held dead man's blood and keeping one tube of virgin's blood.

When you had finished putting the disgusting things back into the freezer, you put Crowley's ingredients into a bag and handed them to him. Crowley thanked you and vanished it between his fingers. 

"What do we get in return?" you asked cheekily. 

"My undying gratitude," Crowley said wryly. "Why, what would you like?"

Taken aback, you realized you had no idea. Hadn't Sam made some kind of deal? And if not, what _could_ you get?

"I haven't thought about it."

"I'll pick something for you," he said, then looked around. "I'd ask you to offer me a drink, but I'm afraid you're all out of beverages I'd actually want to ingest."

He vanished and reappeared half a second later with a dusty bottle in his hand.

"What do you say to a bottle of… 1990 château montrose?" he read from the label. 

Surprised and intimidated, but pleased that he'd want to spend some more time with you, you went to get some glasses. When you returned, Crowley had sat down on the couch and patted the space beside him.

"Come here, darling, and let uncle Crowley tell you where the grapes for this bottle come from."

You sat down on the couch next to him, in a distance your grandmother would have deemed respectable and listened. It should have been boring to hear of the region at the west coast of France, not far from Bordeaux, where the grapes had been grown, but delivered in Crowley's smokey voice, you could have listened to any topic. Since Sam and Dean never drank wine, you never had any either and didn't know what it was supposed to taste like, but you liked the one Crowley had picked. It reminded you of berries and a hint of chocolate.

The second glass, poured by the attentive demon at your side, made you tired and a little dizzy, since you hadn't eaten in some time. You didn't want to get up and raid the kitchens, though, for fear that Crowley might take the opportunity to disappear. 

The conversation turned from France to other vacation destinations and before you knew it, you agreed to go on a safari with the King of Hell. 

"No shooting the animals, though," you demanded and yawned. 

"What do you think I am, a barbarian?" Crowley answered, looking as if it were an outrageous affront to presume he might hurt anyone. 

When you tried to sit up, you realized that took a little more effort than you were used to and leaned back onto the back rest. The second glass of wine had long since turned into a third and maybe half of a fourth and how many glasses were in one bottle, anyway?

Crowley looked at you with a fond expression and emptied his glass. He scooted closer on the couch, which made alarm bells go off in your head. Unfortunately, they were dampened by the soft, warm cloud of intoxication. 

"Now, there's one more thing I'd like to do, tonight," he announced, voice low and eyes fixed upon you. You felt your heartbeat quicken as he came close enough to touch, took your left hand in his and raised it to his mouth to kiss its back. Gentle fingers stroked up and down the inside of your arm.

"What's that?" he asked, looking and pointing to your right, away from him, and you followed his gaze, trying to focus on whatever he had seen, but there was nothing. 

A slight prick at your arm made you jerk and turn back your head and you found Crowley bent over your arm with a syringe stuck inside your vein. 

"Just a little sting, sweetheart, it's already over," he said, pulling up the plunger, and the barrel filled with dark blood.

You were so surprised, you didn't know what to say. 

"I don't recall agreeing to this," you finally complained meekly, but didn't pull your arm away. You suspected that he wouldn't have let you, either, and against demon strength, you had no chance. 

"It's more effective when it's fresh," Crowley said, pulling the needle out and pressing his thumb to the puncture. Carefully, he laid the syringe on the table, then turned back to you. 

"Is that why you made me drunk? You planned this?" you asked without hostility. Yeah, it had been a bit of an ambush, but he wasn't going to bleed you dry. Also, you were enjoying the feeling of his hand on your arm. 

He snorted in amusement. "You made yourself drunk, love. I only watched and enjoyed."

"How could you tell?"

That question was bothering you most. How did he know? Was it tattooed to your forehead? _Has no experience with men at all._ Did he perceive some kind of difference between you and others with his demon powers? He had identified the frozen virgin's blood somehow, so it was possible.

He took his thumb off your arm and watched the puncture mark for a moment, then seemed to decide it was closed enough. With his eyes on yours, he licked your blood off his finger. Blushing, you looked away.

"The look you gave me when I asked you for virgin's blood was indication enough. Also, you're skittish in a way that has nothing to do with monsters, love."

With a snap of his fingers, the wine bottles were gone and the glasses clean. You tried to stand up, but a firm hand on your shoulder pressed you back onto the couch. Crowley handed you a tartan blanket you were sure hadn't been there a moment before.

"Stay put, darling, and sleep it off."

You pouted, but complied. The couch was comfortable and you didn't really want to walk to your room. Crowley picked up the syringe and stood.

"I'd cut back on the booze, if I were you. You need your wits about you. There are monsters out there, you know."

He winked at you. God damn that demon, acting like he was all concerned when it was he who had orchestrated – well, facilitated at least – your current situation. And you, silly and naive as you were, had been excited and expecting something completely different when he had kissed your hand. Stupid.

"I can handle monsters," you murmured and yawned. Apparently, it was _men_ you couldn't handle. Amused, Crowley twirled the syringe between his fingers. 

"I'm sure you can. Well, I've to got to dash, I have a ritual to perform. Ta ta!"

And with that, he was gone. You barely had the energy to lay down on the couch and pull the blanket over you before you fell asleep, dreaming of the King of Hell in khaki pants.


End file.
